Girl All the Bad Guys Want
by GypsySoul24
Summary: He's a good boy. She's a bad girl. How will this play out? A one-shot song fic.


**Author's Note: **Hi there! This is my first fanfiction, so let me know what you think! : )

**Disclaimer:** _Hey Arnold!_ belongs to Craig Bartlett & Nickelodeon

Song:_ Girl All the Bad Guys Want_ by Bowling For Soup

**Update:** Hey guys! So I was told I could not include the lyrics in this fic, so they have been removed. Sorry about that! I hope the story still makes sense. Thanks!

* * *

**Girl All the Bad Guys Want**

He glanced around the diner, sipping on his triple chocolate milkshake, as he sat in the booth by the window… watching and waiting. There weren't many people around, just a couple in a corner booth, coupling, and a few kids from school he recognized but didn't really know. Slausen's was closing up in an hour, but he knew she would be here. She was always here, every Monday night, with her small group of friends.

Arnold Shortman was now a 16 year old junior at East Hillwood High School. He pretty much ran in the same circle of friends since his days at PS 118, consisting of Sid, Stinky, Harold, and of course, Gerald. He was your typical all-American golden boy, working towards a scholarship for college by playing right-fielder for the East Hillwood High Eagles. He had dated his share of girls – there was Melissa in eighth grade, which only lasted about two weeks before she moved on to a guy on the wrestling team. She had a thing for jocks. There was Anna in the Fall of freshman year and Lisa in the Spring. Both were pretty, nice, sweet girls, but both were very bland and boring. And last year, there was Lila Sawyer. He had pretty much gotten over his crush on Lila in fourth grade, but she decided she liked him liked him again sophomore year, and he decided to give it a go. After only a few weeks, he found himself bored. They broke up after about two months.

But there was one girl who always intrigued him. One girl he thought of every now and then. One girl he was always drawn to, like a moth to a flame. And tonight would be the night. He would talk to her.

* * *

Helga Pataki had grown up nice but acted naughty. Since the start of high school, she began running with a different crowd, especially since Phoebe and her parents moved to the other side of town where she was forced to attend West Hillwood High School. Helga's parents finally divorced the summer between eighth and ninth grade. That's when she started to change.

Her mom moved out and her dad kept the house. Helga became more and more rebellious, not that Big Bob noticed. She got her nose pierced freshman year, a tattoo of a little pink bow on her left wrist sophomore year, and this year, she went for hot pink streaks through her golden blonde hair, occasionally worn in dreadlocks. She was skinny with a nice hourglass figure that she liked to show off. In fact, she got sent to the principal's office at least twice a week for her wardrobe, which usually consisted of a black, cut-up, midriff-bearing AC/DC tank top, a distressed denim mini skirt, fishnet tights, black combat boots, and a hot pink thong that liked to play peek-a-boo on her hips.

It was no secret that Helga G. Pataki was a bad girl. In fact, since her days as PS 118, she had built up an even tougher reputation. She partied every weekend, got into at least one fight at school a month, and belonged in a garage band in which she played lead guitar and did a little singing. She hung out with the group of rockers at school, and was caught on occasion skipping class and smoking behind the bleachers, usually with Wolfgang and a couple other guys. Wolfgang and Helga were somewhat of an item, though Helga refused to put a label on what they were. She liked to keep her options open.

Arnold and Helga had been running in different circles since the beginning of high school. They would run into each other every now and then when they shared the same classes or turned a corner; but they hadn't really shared an actual conversation in a couple years. Arnold hoped that that would change. For a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, he had been missing her. He missed talking to her, seeing her, even the spitballs. Even though she was his childhood bully, he had always considered them friends to some extent. But lately, it was more than that. Whenever he caught a glimpse of her in the hall, he would hear music. When he bumped into her unexpectedly around a corner, he felt butterflies in his stomach. But she would always brush him off and walk right past him, not even giving him that trademark Helga Pataki scowl.

* * *

The bell from the front door rang and Arnold's attention snapped to the front of the diner. There she was. Helga G. Pataki. Arnold swore he could see an invisible wind sweeping through her hot pink and blonde hair as a light from the heavens shone a spotlight on her. Arnold gazed at Helga with his eyes half-lidded, watching as she moved to her usual booth, Wolfgang's arm draped across her milky white shoulders, as they and a few of their rowdy rocker friends sat down. Arnold had been thinking about how he might approach her, but the moment he saw her, every idea was forgotten.

Helga got up from her seat and was headed straight towards him. Shocked that she had actually noticed him, he stood up from his booth in the back to say something, anything. The closer she came, the more nervous he got. He began a small wave and an awkward smile just as she breezed right past him and into the ladies' restroom. Arnold sighed. He'd try again when she came back out.

"Hey, football-face! What're you think you're doing?" Arnold turned and saw Wolfgang standing a foot away from where he was standing, arms crossed and glaring.

"Um, just having a milkshake, Wolfgang." Arnold began to get nervous. Wolfgang still bore a bully reputation and though Arnold was a jock, he was still no match for Wolfgang's bulk of muscles.

"Why is it that I always see you drooling over Pataki?" barked Wolfgang. "Don't think I don't notice, football-face! Now beat it or I'll make you wear what's left of that milkshake!"

"Hey, Wolfgang! Let's blow this pop stand. I just remembered there's a big Wrestle-mania tournament on that I wanted to catch," Helga coolly stated from behind Arnold with her arms crossed and a smirk across her face, leaning against the frame of the archway that lead to the restrooms.

"Whatever you want, baby," Wolfgang glanced at Helga, then smiled contentiously at Arnold.

"I'm no one's 'baby', bucko!" Helga sneered as she pointed a finger in Wolfgang's face. "Now let's roll out!"

She glanced back at Arnold as she pushed Wolfgang towards the exit for a brief moment, and he caught a glimmer of an apology in her eyes; and something else, though he wasn't sure what. Arnold sighed dejectedly as he watched Helga leave with Wolfgang and their posse.

'I guess there's always next Monday night,' thought Arnold.

* * *

Tuesday mid-morning, the bell rang, signaling students to transition from third to fourth period classes. Arnold closed his locker and sighed in exasperation, remembering the events that had previously transpired the past evening.

"Arnold, are you okay? What's up with you today, buddy?" Gerald asked, noticing Arnold's embittered demeanor.

Arnold was about to answer when he noticed Helga down the hall at her locker. This time it was not Wolfgang, but Ludwig that was hanging all over her. If Wolfgang was known as a bully, well, Ludwig's reputation was about twenty times worse. He had been in and out of juvenile detention more times than he had fingers. Arnold felt a pang of jealousy surge through him. 'What is with these guys? Why are they always all over her? And when did Ludwig get out of juvie?'

He noticed Ludwig smack Helga on the rear. She simply swatted his chest, rolled her eyes, and walked away. It was then that Arnold noticed she was walking in _his_ direction. Arnold flushed, suddenly becoming more and more nervous. Gerald looked at Arnold with a raised eyebrow.

"He-hey Helga," Arnold quietly stammered as he waved pathetically as Helga stomped by, scowling, once again oblivious to his existence.

* * *

Arnold had gym for fifth period. Today they were running laps around the track since the weather was nice. Arnold was on his third lap around when he noticed Helga hanging out under the metal bleachers, alone. She looked to be writing in a little pink book and talking to herself. Arnold took a deep breath and a quick glance around to make sure the gym teacher wasn't paying attention as he sauntered over to her.

"Hey, Helga. Whatcha doin' over here?" asked Arnold as he climbed through some metal bars to reach her shady spot underneath the bleachers.

Helga nearly jumped out of her skin as she scrambled in a poor attempt to hide that little pink book. "A-Arnold?! Jeez! Don't sneak up on me like that, football-head!"

Arnold smiled inwardly at the sentimental insult as he kneeled down next to her. "Sorry. I was just wondering what you're doing here. Why aren't you in class?"

"Who are you, campus security?" Helga scoffed sarcastically. "Well, I'd like to score some reefer and a forty, especially after the day I've been having. Not that it's any of _your_ business, Arnoldo."

Helga looked tired. There was something about her Arnold couldn't quite place. Though he thought she always looked beautiful, there was something about her that seemed run-down and sad, especially now that he was finally able to get close enough to her to see it. He knew her parents' divorce had taken a toll on her and Big Bob hadn't exactly let up on the abuse and neglect over the years, though he wasn't sure how bad it had gotten.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Arnold asked, a concerned look washing over his handsome features.

"Do I _seem_ alright to _you_, hair-boy?" Helga snapped.

Arnold longed to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, and to tell her everything would be okay. He wanted to kiss all her troubles away. He wanted to peel away the tough layers of this "bad girl" exterior and uncover the kind-hearted and thoughtful person he always knew to be buried beneath.

"Well then, talk to me, Helga. Tell me what's going on. I wanna know," Arnold said as he gazed into her big blue, sad, and slightly nervous eyes.

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Helga broke it and looked away. Arnold dropped his gaze as well, unintentionally scanning his eyes down her body; that's when he noticed it: a large shade of dark purple around the hem of her mini skirt underneath her fishnet tights on the upper part of her left thigh.

"Helga! What happened to your leg?" Arnold reached down and pulled her skirt up slightly, attempting to get a better look at the massive bruise that had taken form. It looked recent.

"What the hell are you doing, football-head?!" Helga yelled as she pushed Arnold away. "Since when are you such a damn pervert?"

Arnold ignored her angry inquiries. "Who did this to you?"

"N-no one, football-head, it was an accident!" Helga stammered, attempting to keep her game-face on.

"Was it Wolfgang? Ludwig? Your dad?" Helga flinched at the list of contenders. Arnold's concern grew. "Helga, you can tell me. I want to help you."

"Newsflash, Arnoldo, but I never asked for your help! I can handle my own problems, just like I always have!" Helga shrieked, growing more flustered and irate. "What does it matter to you anyways, hair-boy? You just want another notch on your do-gooder golden boy belt! Well, I don't need your charity and I don't need your pity!"

Before Arnold could stop her, Helga jumped up with her school bag in hand, and ran out from under the bleachers.

Arnold sighed at the opportunity to get closer to Helga lost as he stood up to finish the remainder of gym class. 'Why does she always have to be so defensive and closed off? Why can't she ever just let me in? She's done it before,' thought Arnold. Granted, she had only let her guard down a handful of times throughout the years, and for very brief windows of time, but still. Arnold wasn't ready to give up yet. He never had before; why give up now?

* * *

The final bell rang and Arnold headed out the front doors of the school to wait for Gerald for a ride home. Arnold had been sitting on a bench for about twenty minutes, watching the front courtyard clear out of students, when he noticed Helga bound down the steps and stand on the curb. A shiny black restored Trans-Am with gold accents pulled up and Ludwig got out.

"Hey, babe! Got the tickets and the drinks. You ready to hit the track?" Ludwig asked as he leaned on the roof with his elbows and a smug grin.

"Hell yeah!" Helga smiled as she was about to jump in the front seat of the car.

"Helga! What the hell?! I'm gone for one day and this is what I get?" Wolfgang, who seemingly came out of nowhere, was barking in Helga's face in an instant. Arnold was paying close attention to the interaction from where he was sitting.

"What do you mean this is what you get? You knew what you were getting into when you started hanging out with me. I made it perfectly clear I wasn't your girlfriend. You're not the boss of me, bucko! I can hang out with whoever the hell I want," Helga shot back scowling, pointing a finger on Wolfgang's buff chest.

Wolfgang's face went red with rage. "Why you little whore!" A resounding _smack_ rang out as Wolfgang slapped Helga across the face and grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her onto the side of the car.

_Oof!_ Helga had the wind momentarily knocked out of her as the pink silhouette of a handprint formed on the side of Helga's left cheek.

"Hey!" Ludwig came over to where Wolfgang had Helga pinned. "What the hell is your problem?! I just had this car refinished!" Ludwig was now in Wolfgang's face.

"Oh, a thousand apologies," Wolfgang jeered derisively. He grabbed Helga by the front of her shirt and threw her to the ground.

Ludwig simply rolled his eyes, got back in his car, and drove away, leaving Wolfgang and Helga in a cloud of dust. She was just about to respond to Wolfgang's incursion when she saw a blur of red and yellow plaid whiz in front of her and then a loud _thud_ hit the ground. She looked over to see Arnold and Wolfgang rolling around on the concrete. Arnold was on top of Wolfgang attempting to hold him down on the sidewalk, with a look in his eyes Helga had never seen before.

"Don't you _ever_ touch her like that again!" Arnold yelled in Wolfgang's face as his hands were clasped around his big broad shoulders.

Helga looked on in a state of shock, not knowing what to do. 'Since when does golden boy get in fights?' she wondered.

Just then, Wolfgang gained back his composure and flipped them so Arnold was underneath him. "Well, well, football-face! Come to save the damsel in distress? Well, guess what? She doesn't _need_ saving, so why don't you just mind your own damn business?!" Wolfgang scoffed as his fist rose up and landed on Arnold's left eye.

When Arnold opened his eyes to push Wolfgang off, he realized there was no one on top of him. He glanced next to him to see Wolfgang face down on the ground, out cold.

Helga was standing in front of Arnold smirking with a large chemistry textbook in her hands. "I knew these things were good for something," Helga said with a raised eyebrow as she held out her hand for Arnold. "Guess this makes us even, football-head."

Arnold started to smile when he noticed the left side of her face beginning to bruise. "Oh my gosh, Helga! Your face!"

Helga frowned. "Well, your face doesn't exactly belong on the cover of _Rolling Stone_ either, hair-boy!"

"No, no, I mean, your face is beginning to bruise," Arnold clarified.

Helga touched her face and winced.

"How about I walk you home?" asked Arnold, hope she would say yes blooming inside of him.

Helga hesitated for a moment, looking slightly apprehensive before saying, "Whatever floats your boat, Arnoldo."

Arnold sent a quick text to Gerald, who was still practicing in Jazz choir at the moment, letting him know something came up and he didn't need a ride anymore. Arnold and Helga were silent for most of the walk to her house. Arnold, whose stomach was doing back flips, wasn't sure what to say and kept attempting to make conversation with Helga, who seemed a little tense and gave single-word answers to his questions.

They reached the bright blue brick townhouse and stood in front awkwardly for a moment. All of a sudden, they heard a deep voice bellowing, "Damn it, Thomas! I told you I wanted you to be there to sign for the new shipment of cellphones! What the hell did I hire you for?!"

"Great. Looks like blowhard Bob is home early. What a delight," Helga said under her breath as they listened to Bob excessively screaming at an employee on the phone.

"Do you want to go for a walk around the park?"

Helga thought for a moment. "What the hey, it's better than hanging out in this hellhole."

They walked across the street to the park. "How's your face doing?" Arnold asked.

"Awesome. I wish I could get slapped in the face every day so I could feel this good." Helga rolled her eyes. "Criminy, football-head, how do you think it's doing?"

Arnold simply glanced downward, not sure of what to say, yet wishing he could do everything in his power to make her feel better. They walked for about ten minutes in a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts, not noticing the dark grey clouds rolling in.

"So… homecoming is coming up soon. Are you thinking of going?"

"Ha! Yeah right, like I would be caught dead in a big poufy ball gown parading around like some _princess_!"

"Oh. So I take it no one's asked you?"

"Does it seem like my kind of thing, hair-boy?"

"Well, I was just kind of wondering, if no one's asked you, if you'd like to maybe go with me?"

Helga stopped walking with a disbelieving look plastered on her face, as the rain began to sprinkle around them. She took a deep breath. "Look, Arnoldo, you're a good guy. You're as good as they come. Which means you should probably stick to good girls, like that little Miss Perfect, _Lila_."

"Oh, come on, Helga. I know you're not all bad." Arnold inched his way towards her, his voice smooth, eyes in that half-lidded expression. "I know that you've always been a good person deep down…"

"That's where you're wrong, football-head," Helga cut him off sharply. "There's not a decent bone in my entire body."

Arnold was now standing face-to-face with Helga. He could feel her bubblegum scented breath against his face. Helga was scowling at him, but it wasn't as harsh as it usually was. Arnold gazed into Helga's deep resplendent eyes; every kiss they had shared flashing before his. He began to lean in, closing the mere distance of centimeters between them. Helga simply stood there, unmoving, with a slight shocked expression on her face and, what was that… a hint of desire, perhaps? Arnold's lips pressed against Helga's as fireworks shot off between them. To Arnold's surprise, Helga deepened the kiss and held his shoulders tightly for one beautiful evanescent moment. But then before Arnold knew it, Helga pushed him so hard he hit the ground.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, bucko?!" Helga screamed but panting, her scowl set at full force.

"I-I…" Arnold stammered, unsure of what to say as the shock of being so quickly propelled to the paved walkway wore off. The rain began to pour around them.

"Let's get something straight here," Helga pointed a hard finger down at Arnold, "bad girls like me don't date good boys like you. I don't need some goody two-shoed, busy-bodied, boring, football-headed golden boy like you dragging me down! Just stay the hell away from me!" And with that, Helga took off down the concrete path in a mad-dash home.

Arnold just sat there for a moment on the cold hard pavement in the rain. 'Does she really think those things about me?' Arnold wasn't sure how to feel at this moment. He hoisted himself up and began the desultory trek home, lost in thought.

* * *

The next day at school, Arnold sulked his way through the bustling halls of teachers and teenagers. He had trouble concentrating in his classes. All he could think about was Helga G. Pataki; wondering if he should just give up, wishing there was some way to win her over, and mentally wandering through every memory with her in it.

Lunchtime rolled around. Arnold exited the lunch line with a tray only consisting of a bowl of the daily soup and a yahoo soda. He wasn't feeling very hungry due to the prior day's events. As he made his way to his usual lunch table with the guys, he looked up and caught sight of Helga as she grazed past him with her fishnets and dreadlocks, headed to the spot under the stairs where all the rockers sat. The hot pink swirled with the blonde of her dreadlocks reminded him of candy canes. He watched as she made her way over to her usual group, sans Wolfgang.

Arnold turned and headed back towards his table, sitting in the empty seat between Gerald and Sid. 'I can't give up just yet. I have to show her that we could work. Prove to her that I love her,' Arnold thought to himself, the gears in his oblong head spinning.

* * *

When he got home that afternoon, Arnold tuned the radio to a station that played rap metal and all the bands that he knew Helga liked. He spent a couple hours on the internet, reading up on things like wrestling and race cars. Finally, he made his way to the part of the basement filled with old boxes. He spent a few minutes digging through them until he finally came across what he was looking for. Brushing the dust off the lid of the old cardboard box, he pulled out an old worn out black leather jacket his grandpa used to wear on occasion. The last time he saw this jacket, it was headed to the movies with two sixth grade girls, Connie and Maria, sneaking into a PG-13 movie. He gave a smile and a slight chuckle at the memory of his grandpa earning his elementary school diploma.

He headed to the garage and gave a disheartened glance at the old red moped that sat in the corner near the Packard. He had found it in a junkyard two summers ago and decided to take it home and fix it up. It ran okay, though it was nothing spectacular, he did have a good time fixing that ol' thing up.

'Too bad I can't afford a real motorcycle or a classic muscle car,' thought Arnold as he let out a deep sigh. 'Oh, well. Here goes nothin'.'

* * *

"Olga! Hurry up and get the door, would ya? I'm watchin' The Wheel!"

"It's _Helga_, dad," Helga muttered as she rolled her eyes and made her way down the stairs to the front door. When she opened it, all she could do was stand still, gaping at the sight in front of her.

There stood Arnold, casually leaning on the railing of her front stoop, clad in ripped up jeans, a crisp white t-shirt underneath an old worn black leather jacket, and a cigarette in his mouth.

"Hey, babe," Arnold stated coolly, keeping his face in a state of nonchalance.

"What's up, Zuko? You about to whisk me away in Greased Lightning and fly off into the sunset?" Helga laughed once she snapped out of her state of surprise.

"Something like that," Arnold replied, internally trying to simultaneously keep his nerves under control and not choke on the cigarette. Unfortunately he was unsuccessful with both. Arnold attempted to take a drag of the cigarette, but instead had a small coughing fit.

"Geez, football-head!" Helga grabbed the cigarette from him and threw it on the ground, putting it out with her foot. "I'm betting this is your first time with one of those. Are you trying to kill yourself?" A concerned look was etched on her face, along with amusement.

Arnold was still coughing and feeling like a fool. What possessed him to do this? Why did he think this was a good idea? Why was Helga looking at him like that? Wait, what?

"Look, Helga," Arnold began as the coughing fit subsided, "I know that we're different. We have different hobbies, have different friends, and like different forms of entertainment. I know you think things could never work between us, but I think they can. That's part of the beauty of a relationship, right? Working with each other's differences?" Arnold took Helga's hand in his as she continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable. "I love you, Helga G. Pataki. I think I have for a lo-"

And just like that, her lips were on his. He embraced her in an impassioned kiss, grabbing her waist with both hands as hers encircled around his neck. And there they were: the fireworks; more vibrant and electric this time around. When they broke apart, they were both left dazed and breathless, as Helga rested her forehead on his.

"I love you, football-head," she whispered softly.

Arnold smiled and closed his eyes, capturing every detail of this moment. "I love you, too."

After a beat, Arnold lifted his head from hers. "So, you wanna go get some ice cream or something?"

"As long as you're buyin', football-head," Helga smirked.

Arnold took her hand in his as he led her towards an old red moped parked on the street in front of her house.

"Just promise you won't try and kill yourself with more cigarettes, huh?" Helga playfully punched him with her free hand.

"Hey," Arnold said as he rubbed his arm, smiling, "I can be a bad guy sometimes, too."


End file.
